As I waited for a response, I heard scuffling again. This time it sounded as if it was coming from the vault, which had been dark, with the door almost closed, when I had passed the center cross aisle on the way to the office. All of my street instincts snapped on alert. Something was definitely wrong. I pocketed my phone and stepped quietly down the outside aisle toward the vault. As I moved closer, I heard Betsy’s hushed voice.
“That was the back door. She’s gone.”
Claudia’s voice sounded choked as well. “Michael said she was leaving. Going home. She probably just stopped to say goodbye.”
Who were they talking to?
“Please turn the light back on. Claudia gets claustrophobic.”
The response came from a male voice as cold and dispassionate as I’d ever heard. “Who cares? I should kill you both and be done with it. Now which box is it?”
But I had heard that voice before. Where …
“Well, I can’t exactly see it in the dark, now can I?”
Practical Betsy. I sent Mike a frantic text, then silenced my phone.
“Not till I know she’s gone. I keep hearing noises.”
“The cat. Looking for mice.” Claudia still sounded on the edge of hysteria.
As if on cue, from a high shelf near my head, Ratliff complied with a chirp, then a low, threatening snarl. He too knew something was up.
“See? Cat! Please, light!” Claudia’s clipped voice had slipped into panic. Any minute now she’d do something crazy, I was sure of it.
“And we need to open the door, let the air circulate.” Again, Betsy, the practical one.
The light snapped on, and I pressed hard against the wall behind the door as it opened wider.
“Thank you,” Claudia said. I could hear her panicked breathing.
“Where is it?”
“Box one hundred twelve. Please put down the gun.” Betsy sounded resigned but calm.
My chest tightened. Mike still had mine. I had no way of confronting the man.
I heard another snarl from Ratliff, and I looked up. He was glaring intensely at the action beyond the door, his bottlebrush tail conducting fierce, sharp circles through the air. His neck arched and his chin tucked, Ratliff leaned forward, his chest over his front feet. His ruff flared, and Ratliff’s eyes followed every move in the vault. His people were being threatened.
“Where’s the keys?” The man’s voice—the absolute absence of emotion, even of desperation—chilled me to the bone.
It was the voice from outside my trailer, the day Dean Sowers shot himself. And it could only be Dandridge Patton.
I knew he planned to kill them.
“In that box.”
I heard a metallic scrape and a rattle of multiple items.
“These aren’t numbered.”
“You have to look closely at them. They’re etched on the end, just the last two digits.”
“How do you know it’s one hundred twelve? Could be any of these boxes.”
“The clerk told us when she told us where the keys were. Said what we’d be mainly interested in was box one hundred twelve.”
For the first time, a touch of anger edged his voice. “So she knows too? How many people know about this?”
“Apparently more than we realized,” Betsy said. “So it would do you no good to kill us.”
I stepped to the edge of the entrance but was mostly hidden by the door. As I had imagined, Claudia sat on the floor, her head between her knees. Betsy stood between her sister and the man brandishing the gun. Even in profile I knew who it was. I used my cop voice, as commanding as I could make it. “None at all.”
Claudia gasped, and her head snapped up. Betsy whispered, “Star!”
The man whirled. Dandridge Patton. He’d been the most handsome of the Patton men, with dark hair and a slightly more muscular frame than his grandfather. Now the flat expression in his eyes and exhausted look to his entire body made him appear haggard and old. His arm snapped up, pointing the gun at me, but he snorted a half laugh.
“I knew you were still here. You can’t stay away, can you? My grandfather said you were persistent. Couldn’t keep your nose out of our business. Everything was fine and dandy until you showed up. Your whole family is like a curse on this town.” He stepped closer to me.
“You’re wrong about that, Dandridge.” I dropped the cop voice, making my tone more congenial, motherly. “I was just the catalyst. The real people who stood up to your empire were already here. They had the tools and the guts to use them. All they needed was a little support, a little push. A catalyst.”
“They never would have acted without you.”
I nodded. “Oh yes, they would have. Just a matter of time.” In the distance, I could hear sirens.
Betsy moved behind him, and he swung back around, thrusting the gun at her. “Back up, or I’ll shoot you just for the fun of it.”
I stepped a bit more from behind the door and shook my head at her and Claudia, then I called his name. “Dandridge, do you know where your grandfather is?”
He nodded, then faced me again. “He gave up on me. He had plane tickets. We were going to get out of the country. But he gave up on me.”
I dropped my tone a little more, and as I spoke, he closed in on me. “Dandridge, your grandfather realized that he was too old to spend life on the run. That his best bet is to turn state’s evidence. To betray those who loved and protected him. Including you. Can you hear the sirens? The police are on the way here. So let’s end this.”
His smile was as cold and flat as his voice. “Really? So I guess there’s no reason not to kill you, huh? Think of it as an honor killing, for what you did to my family.”
“If you want to. Just remember that Alabama has the death penalty. Do you really want to die for a man who has betrayed you?” I pushed the door all the way open and stepped backward into the center cross aisle. Dandridge closed the distance, raising his gun. He aimed it directly at my face, and his finger moved over the trigger.
An unearthly yowl resounded over us. Dandridge’s head yanked up as twenty-five pounds of angry cat landed on his chest and face, all claws extended. He screamed, and I threw up my arm and shoved his gun hand to one side. The weapon went flying as Dandridge stumbled back against the vault door. I jumped, pushing Ratliff aside. I landed hard on Dandridge, carrying both of us to the ground. His head hit the marble floor with a sickening thunk, and he stopped screaming. He moaned, then lay still. Still breathing but out for the count.
I looked up at Betsy, who stood pale and wide eyed, staring at me. “Twine? Belt? Zip ties?”
She blinked, then jumped into action, pulling her own belt out of the loops of her jeans. I rolled Dandridge over and bound his hands with the belt. It wouldn’t hold long once he was awake, but the sirens fast approached.
So maybe, just maybe, all of this was truly and finally over.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
AND IT WAS. Dandridge and Ellis Patton were arraigned at the end of the week. Box 112 contained all the evidence and paperwork my father had gathered on the bootlegging, counterfeiting, and money laundering the Patton “empire” had been engaged in for more than seventy years. The letters that Imajean still had included Roscoe’s and William’s own observations of the operation, as well as notes about who had been killed and buried at the end of the field road. That information helped match names to some of the corpses, bringing much-needed closure to some hurting families.
Other safe-deposit boxes also held key evidence, including two more of the printing plates for the counterfeiting operation, and ledgers listing the local businesses that had been trapped into laundering the money, some of which were still doing it. As expected, there would be consequences, but Darius assured me that the blackmail used to get them involved would be taken into account.
And much to my dismay, Doc Taylor had been involved, in some form or fashion, since his father’s day, including shooting my father and Alex Trawler. There was no sta
tute of limitations on murder, but he stepped forward, helping with information on the bodies and handing over private records he’d kept for more than forty years. He would still go to prison, but his age and his help in unraveling everything would be taken into account. He admitted to the part he’d played in the crimes in the seventies and eighties and said he’d wanted to break free of the syndicate for years. He’d just been embedded too deep and had been terrified they’d take any betrayal out on Maude.
As I looked back over our long conversation, he’d tried to tell me as much, but I’d been too blind to see it, too enamored of his grandfatherly interest in me. I had to absorb and process that, examine why it had happened, and make sure it never happened again. Obviously, as Gran had often pointed out, I had issues with men of all ages.
Maude stood by him, even confessing to me that she’d known much of what was going on—that they’d even chosen not to have children because of it.
Between Doc and Ellis agreeing to testify, more arrests came, but when the dust and arraignments settled, I returned to Gran’s for a few days, then retreated to Nashville. I might be called to testify at some point, but what I’d said to Dandridge had been the truth. The people of Pineville had been the ones to bring down the criminal conspiracy that had held the town hostage for so many years. I had been merely a catalyst, spurred on by a love of family and an obsession about what we leave behind.
My grandfather, for instance, had left behind a renovated 1969 Overlander with a six-foot pink flamingo painted on one side. Now gone, along with Belle, more victims of Ellis Patton and his crew. Belle, even more than the Overlander, had served our family since 1973.
Because the Overlander wasn’t the only thing I’d inherited. Belle had belonged to a young JAG officer named Robert Caleb Spire. Purchased with pride for his growing family just after he returned from Vietnam. Other than boxes of papers about an unsolved murder, she had been the only thing I had of his. Now she was gone, and the feds had all the paperwork.
I had to let go.
Nashville helped. I slowly healed. As I regained my health, my friends began dragging me out in the evenings, trying to get me to reengage. But it was hard, and I talked to Gran often. She sent me a Bible that had belonged to Uncle Jake before he left, and I actually read it. I did some research at my father’s old law firm, talked to one of the lawyers there about a case, but I declined two cold case jobs. I just didn’t have the focus to work.
I knew I grieved for all that was lost. And grieved hard. But knowing what’s happening to you and being able to take steps to change don’t always coincide.
But sometimes the greatest steps in healing come from unexpected sources. Such as a phone call from someone you miss and are trying exceptionally hard not to think about.
I was lying on my couch, staring out at my back yard, still in my pajamas at three in the afternoon, when my cell phone vibrated. I stared at the number for a long time, almost letting it flip to voicemail. Just before it did, I answered. “Hello?”
“I know I promised not to call, but I have news you have to hear.” Mike’s rich baritone sent an unexpected ache through my chest. I missed him.
I forced my voice to remain even. “OK.”
His voice, however, almost trembled with excitement. “We found Belle and the beastie.”
My brain went numb. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“We found Belle and the Overlander. They were in an abandoned barn on one of the Patton tenant farms. It came out when he was giving information to the feds. Just took them a while to share the news. You said he kept wanting to buy the Carryall. Turns out he couldn’t bring himself to destroy it.”
“And this is not a joke?”
“Would I joke about a six-foot flamingo guaranteed to upset Jake Beason when it’s anywhere in the vicinity of Pineville?”
I sat up. “And they’re OK?”
“The Overlander took a couple of scrapes when they pulled it into the barn, but everything looks good. They just parked them and left.”
“Where are they now?”
“The sheriff’s impound lot. Ready for pick up.”
Which meant that if I wanted them, I would have to return to Pineville. I hesitated, a dozen thoughts running through my head.
Mike mistook my silence. “We don’t have to see each other when you come.” His soft words held a slightly wounded lilt to them. And they forced me to focus.
“I want to see you. I’ve … I’ve been researching something. We need to talk. And not on the phone.”
His tone became curious. “Anytime you want.”
“Baker’s? Saturday night?” Today was Thursday. “Around six.”
“I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
BAKER’S ON A Saturday night was busiest between four and six, when the older people in the area ate supper at their favorite meat-and-three. Mike had always referred to it as the senior happy hour. After six, their business was mostly takeout from families heading home from ball practice and too tired to cook. And a few couples looking for privacy.
Mike’s cruiser was already in the parking lot when I arrived in my nondescript rental. I hadn’t yet retrieved Belle, but I had made arrangements to pick her and the beastie up on Monday. I hesitated, watching people come and go from the restaurant, my nerves more rattled than they should be. I wanted to see him.
And I didn’t. Mike Luinetti had gotten under my skin in a way no man had since my divorce more than a decade ago. The lightest touch of his hand on mine made my heart leap. He was the first man who didn’t make me think immediately of Tony O’Connell. The first man to make me think that not all men had a dark, evil side lying in wait to trap and hurt everyone around them.
And yet even Mike had his secrets.
I guess we all do.
I wanted to sink into his arms and never emerge. And I never wanted to see him again, never be vulnerable again.
I slid out of the car.
He sat near the back of the restaurant, in a corner so that he could see all the exits. When I entered, he stood immediately. No smile, but his eyes gleamed. He pulled out a chair as I approached, his hand gently grasping my elbow as I sat. And yes, my heart leaped in my chest, and I swallowed hard, nodding my thanks. He took his seat.
“I went ahead and ordered you a half-and-half sweet tea. The specials are salmon patties or pork chops. Anything you want. I’m buying.”
“Thank you.” The man did not chatter. Obviously, he was as nervous as I was.
“I mean, I don’t mean to patronize. But I know you’ve not been working …” His voice trailed off as he realized he’d revealed too much.
My eyebrows went up. “You’ve been talking to my grandmother?”
He crossed his arms. “I knew she’d want to know about the Overlander.”
“You didn’t think I’d tell her?”
He uncrossed his arms, and his shoulders slumped. “OK. She called me. She’s worried about you.”
I sighed. “Mike, I’m not mad. She keeps trying to bring you up in our conversations as well. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell her I don’t want to talk about you.”
His eyes creased. “You don’t?”
“No. I do. So I don’t. She knows I want … I can’t talk—” This was not going well. “You terrify me!” I blurted.
He leaned back, stunned. “How? Why do I terrify you?”
It was out now. Get it over with, Star. “Because I’ve not wanted to be with anyone ever as much as I want to be with you. No one. But I can’t handle being with you. I can’t even handle wanting to be with you. Not right now. I just can’t.”
“And your solution to this is to completely sever contact?”
“It’s the only one I can think of. Try to get you out of my head. My heart.”
He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table. “How about something more reasonable, like just taking things slow? Staying in touch? Seeing what happens?”
“When have you ever known me to be reasonable?”
“There’s always a first time for everything.”
Lord, I have missed this man. “You’re willing to take this slow?”
“You are living in another city. Do we have a choice?”
He reached and took my hand. His fingers were warm, and his thumb gently caressed my palm. And it felt as if every nerve in my body fired. My voice cracked as I whispered, “You keep that up and we won’t be able to take anything slow.”
His grin shifted to a mischievous one as his eyes brightened. “I’ll consider myself forewarned … and forearmed.”
A server appeared at our table, delivering my tea and breaking the mood. Mike released my hand, we ordered, and she left. I sipped from the glass, grateful that Mike had remembered to ask for half sweet and half unsweet. Baker’s sweet tea was so syrupy, a spoon could stand upright in the glass.
“So what else did you want to talk about?”
I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath.
“Is it that bad?”
I grimaced. “You’ll have to decide. I may have overstepped here, but I couldn’t get something out of my head. So I’ve been talking to one of my lawyer friends about Jessica Carter.”
His stunned look returned. “What?”
“I promised I’d help you, remember? I didn’t forget that.”
“But you didn’t need to—”
“Yes, I did. Intrusive or not, I did need to. It was the only way I could think of to repay you.”
He leaned forward, his eyes intense. “You didn’t need—”
“Jessica Carter is a pro.”
He stopped, his mouth open for a second. Then he closed it and swallowed. He shook his head.
I plunged on. “Look, I know all this is moot now that Ellis Patton is under indictment. But I thought you should know. When you told me about it, something felt familiar. It’s a blackmail setup as old as time. So I had my friend look for similar cases. Just to see what we could find out. Who told you she attempted suicide? That she had been committed?”
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